


Lean

by gondalsqueen



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Doesn't this story sound fun?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Space family, TW: Darth Vader, TW: Non-consensual drug use, TW: Reality tv, TW: mentions of trafficking, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gondalsqueen/pseuds/gondalsqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring our space family in gratuitous hurt/comfort scenes of every permutation! Half a scoop of hurt, heavy on the comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kanan and Hera

“Kanan. Kanan. Kanan.” He had dirt in his hair, sifted down into the scalp. “Kanan, where are you?” The air was chilly and damp. His fingers felt it, and the end of his nose. He wiped away a sneeze on his shoulder.

Then a face above him and the dirt disappeared from his head and his back. A searchlight shone behind her. He could make out the left half of her face in its light. “Kanan, let’s go.”

“Master!” He’d seen her shot down. He’d seen it. And he’d felt it. Hadn’t he?

“No,” she told him. “That was just an illusion for the soldiers. Necessary to our escape. Let’s go now.”

Oh. That made so much more sense. She leaned over him, the arc of her robe obscuring the light in his eyes, and offered him her hand. “Kanan, it is time to leave.”

Then he heard it. Kanan. “This isn’t right.” That questioning look he knew so well on her face, mostly concerned, a little amused. He was rocking the transport again. “You’re not Master Billaba.”

She frowned. “We have to leave now.” He could sense her concern through the Force, and her presence, genuine. She didn’t reveal herself. But now he knew, with utter certainty, that something dark was here, and this was a trick.

Her hand outstretched again. He couldn’t reach up to take it. He was asleep, or under sedation, and this was some illusion...

“NO!”

And with that supreme denial, Kanan woke himself.

A dark rooftop. Still cold. Well, this reality was a bitter disappointment, but at least it was real.

“Are you coming or not, Kid?”

He looked up. Well, to the side. He was hanging upside down from his knees on some sort of piping next to the roof vent. A long time ago, he would swing like this for ages on the younglings’ playground.

Kasmir, of course. “I thought this was the chance you wanted.”

He did. He wanted to eat and bathe and be warm, so desperately. Kasmir held a blaster out to him. “I’ve heard even you baby Jedi are good. Can you do as much with this as you can with that laser sword?”

Yes! Would he remember how to use the blaster? Had he learned yet? Uncertainty paralyzed him, and he couldn’t reach out and take it. His legs hung on, but his arms wouldn’t work.

“Come on, can you shoot upside down? Take it.”

But he couldn’t, and he realized in the whirl of Kasmir’s approach and his own inability that he hadn’t woken up at all. The dark thing had stalked him into this place, too, working itself close to him. It needed his trust. It needed him to say yes.

He had to wake up. Really wake. “No.”

And he was awake. Or was he? The floor of a warehouse. No blanket. His back hurt. All the sensory details that the last place had been missing. He would have preferred the first world, but this reality would have to do. He stretched in place, popping his back. Okadiah sat on the bench, working at something in leather. “Rise and shine, m’boy. It’s the early shift for me, and you’ve got to open the bar.”

A shift he might have skipped, in this position. But Okadiah needed him. And he couldn’t…

…Wait. This was wrong, too. He shouldn’t be here anymore. He should be on the Ghost, with Hera and Zeb and Sabine and Ezra and even Chopper. Kanan knew it—he could almost see it. He was on the Ghost.

And he couldn’t move. And he couldn’t wake. But Hera was on watch tonight and if he managed to call out, she would hear him and wake him. He didn’t have to move—he only had to call for help.

But he couldn’t. Okadiah offered him a hand, not Okadiah, a presence menacing in its amiability.

“Hera! HERA!”

She shook his shoulder. Her hand, gloved, but definitely her hand. “Kanan, what? What? I’m here.” Thank all the stars and all the Force. She leaned over him in a rush of relief and the smell of soap, and he realized.

The bunk. It hadn’t shifted under her weight. Because she didn’t weigh anything. And he wasn’t awake.

He marshalled all of his terror for one last strike. He still couldn’t move. All he had to do was shout, just one yell, one REAL yell, and it would be over. He tried. And failed. And failed.

Watched the curve of her breast, leaning in, and screamed bloody murder.

“Hera.” More a sneeze than a shout, too feeble for anyone to hear, but it did the trick. Kanan woke to his own voice. The lights on the consoles drifted slowly into place as his eyes woke up as well. He blinked against the dryness.

He stayed stiff for a moment, horrified, scanning. Then he melted into mere fear and pulled the covers back over himself in one protective swipe. That cycle of nightmares had broken the way a fever breaks, leaving him in a cold sweat, but steady. Nothing dark was here. He had woken himself with her name.

Against his back, Hera slept the deep sleep of early morning. He hadn’t stirred, had barely made a sound. Well, there was no need to wake her now. Kanan turned over, pulled her in loosely, put his nose against her neck, safe. They’d gotten the soap all wrong in his dream.


	2. Zeb and Kanan

It was Hera’s mistake.

Kanan saw the whole thing from across the hold. She leaned in too far—the issue they’d been training to correct—and caught a solid connecting blow from Zeb’s fist. It hit the sparring pads on her chest with a resounding thwap. Kanan’s knee-jerk panic as she flew across the room faded to a wince when she landed on her rear. She jumped up so fast it looked like she’d bounced, but it was too late.

Zeb stayed where he was, breathing hard through flared nostrils, fist frozen, jaw clenched. Teeth in his lip.

“I’m okay.” Hera trotted over to Zeb. “Hey—Hey, I’m fine. It’s fine. I took a stupid step. It’s not your fault.”

His lip bled.

“Zeb?”

Nothing. Then he punched the inner bulkhead so hard it dented, and Hera almost stepped back. “I’m FINE. No need to wreck my ship.”

But she and Kanan both saw the yellow-eyed panic. “This. Is too many times. When do we make Duros?”

“No, you’re not doing this.” Hera told him firmly.

“I’m going to pack.”

“No, you’re NOT.”

Kanan couldn’t say anything—Zeb hated the idea of being handled. He could only hope Hera caught his look. And his eyebrow. And the look again. She frowned, but backed off, heading for the storage closet. “I’m going to take off the sparring pads and then come back and show you that there are zero bruises.”

“Hey.” Kanan shoved Zeb’s shoulder. Half playful, none too gentle. “You think I’d ever let Hera be hurt?”

Zeb shook his head. “No offense, pal, but…” He stood up straight and looked down at Kanan from a good quarter-meter vantage point. It wasn’t a view Kanan was used to. “…You think you can stand in my way once I get any momentum?”

Momentum, huh? Like Zeb dodging blaster bolts, running full force at a group of stormtroopers, knocking them out of the way like mag-ball pins. Or Zeb brawling into a civilian-filled street. Yes, he could be a danger. If you weren’t his, he might decide you were an acceptable loss. But if you  _were_ his… well, he’d punch through a bulkhead before he’d see you hurt.

Anyway, he was a Specter, so he belonged with them now. And Kanan hadn’t had a brother-in-arms since… the Temple, really… No, that wasn’t good for thinking much about. Change tacts. Kanan liked Zeb, and trusted him—had trusted him to stand there and punch at Hera, even. Didn’t he have any idea what he’d had to do to earn that?

Maybe he didn’t. Okay, then. “I think I need to show you something.” Kanan nodded at one of the crates. “See that? Can you pick it up?”

It was filled with ration packs. Not exactly gold Peggats, but not light. “Yeah.”

“Throw it at me.”

Zeb’s eyes widened at this further evidence of insanity. “Not in a millennium, mate.”  

“Look, you’re not going to  _hit_  me.”

“I’ve got more control than to try THAT.”

“Come on. You know what Hera would do to me if I smashed one of her crates. Trust me.” Zeb frowned, always a grumpy look on him. In return, Kanan gave his best charming grin. “Do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m a putz.”

“Just toss it. You know you want to.”

“I really don’t.” Zeb sighed heavily, but hefted the crate above his head. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“This is idiocy,” he muttered.

“Do it!”

He lobbed the crate well to the side of Kanan, then closed his eyes and waited for the crash. It never came. He risked slitting one eye open. No crate. No…wait. There it was.

Hanging in mid-air. Kanan’s arm outstretched.

Both eyes flew open. “You’re—You—I knew you were good, but I thought you’d been a kriffing bounty hunter or something. You’re—”

“Yeah.”

“Karabast.”

“So… You don’t have to worry. Not about holding back when we’re sparring. Not about causing too much trouble and getting ISB on our tails. Not about leaving. Okay? As long as I’m around, you can’t get anyone hurt. Got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Kanan’s last words ricocheted around in Zeb’s head for a long time. “You’re safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not included: Hera returning and absolutely lifting her shirt right up to show that she’s unbruised. Zeb saying, “Okay.” Neither one of them thinking it’s the slightest bit awkward, because that’s the kind of straightforward friendship they have. Kanan facepalming. But that’s not in this scene.


	3. Sabine and Zeb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for serious injury in this chapter. Non-graphic, but still kind of upsetting.

Zeb and Sabine. Everyone else had made it back to the Ghost, safe and accounted for, and Zeb and Sabine had tripped their wrist alarms. Emergency, said that signal. We’re coming home. Help.

One of them. One of them had hit the wrist alarm.

Ezra punched the button to lower the ramp. The big med kit was too heavy to carry, so he drug it to the edge of the hold, just as Zeb ran in and eased Sabine to the floor.

“You’re okay,” he was saying. He pulled at her armor, fumbling, hands too big to get under the plates to the clasps. No, he’d gotten it. There went the shoulder guards. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Sabine hadn’t removed her helmet, so Ezra couldn’t see her face, but she was at least conscious. He knew it from the tense hunch of her spine and her voice over the helmet speaker. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, though. Couldn’t make it out because she was speaking some non-Basic language, and because Zeb kept talking over her, saying, “Shh. Shh.”

Couldn’t tell because she wasn’t saying anything. That’s why it sounded foreign, coming from her mouth. That sound was hurt, frightened sobbing.

The fur on Zeb’s fingers had gone dark and glistening, and now he’d detached the chest plate.

“Ezra!”

“Huh?”

Zeb loomed, truly angry, and for a second Ezra thought he might attack. “The KIT! Open the kit!”

Oh. He clicked the latches back and threw the lid too hard. It landed with a thump. Dust flew into the air. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”


	4. Ezra and Sabine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I avoided writing this one for a long time, because Ezra’s voice != me. But this chapter deals with a dynamic that’s been evolving in complete silence on the show itself. I wanted to put some words to it.

The blast tossed him back a good ten yards, but he landed on his feet. Then he promptly fell back on his rump. Sabine’s exasperated voice buzzed over the comm in his ear, over the fading hum from the explosion: “Ezra, you’re not wearing armor!” A pause, then she added, “Thanks.” She’d been placing explosives, not looking for troops behind her.

Wow, that was…nice of her.

Kanan’s training asserted itself— _No distractions until you’re safe_. So Ezra surveyed the scene: the stunned stormtroopers lay flat on the ground, not even twitching. The pieces of twisted metal left over from Sabine’s job burned on the open dirt. Nothing moved or made a sound except the wind and the fire. Okay. They were safe enough.

Now, how was he supposed to take “nice” from Sabine? “Hey, I’ve got your back any time,” he told her. There. The self-assured act. Except by now she knew it was just an act.

A deep sigh over the comm. Maybe she didn’t know. Sabine tucked supplies back into her belt pack—expensive remotes she could use again, even if the blast-sight detonator was gone. “You hurt?”

Maybe. He felt…rattled. If something was bleeding, he might not know it yet. “Nah, all right.” Ezra dusted his hands on his pants and stood.

Tried to, anyway. His knee felt like a steel ball had lodged between the bones. He rocked back down immediately.

“Leg?” Sabine asked. She was watching him.

“No. It’s fine.” He’d had this kind of fall before. Too much pressure on the joint or something. He just needed to get up more slowly.

He stood, howled, sat back down. Sabine stared at him. In the perfect stillness of her head, cocked at that angle, he was sure of it—behind her helmet, she wore her _Ezra, why are you so stupid?_ expression.

He didn’t think it was fair. He’d been injured backing HER up, after all.

“Leg?” she said again.

He sighed, defeated. “Yeah.”

“Come on, hero.” She held out a hand to him.

“What?”

“The others will have seen that blast. We took down any air cover these guys might have sent, but we need to make the rendezvous. Think you can walk if I help you up?”

He waved her hand away. “I’ve got it.” He staggered to his feet, teeth gritted. It’s just pain, Ezra, don’t be such a baby. Then he put weight on the leg and went down for the third time. Okay, it wasn’t just pain. Something didn’t WORK.

Sabine smacked him in the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for? Getting hurt saving you?”

“No, dummy. Acting like you weren’t.”

He pressed his mouth straight so it wouldn’t reveal him. “I just didn’t want to…”

“What? Admit you’re not a superhero?”

 _Slow you down_ , he thought. He said nothing.

Another exasperated sigh. That sound was more or less how he knew Sabine was talking to him. “Stand up.” She hauled him to his feet.

“You’re not carrying me.”

“Nope.” Instead, she dragged his arm over her shoulder. “You’re going to use me as a crutch until we get back to the forest. Then you can cut your own crutch from any tree you like.”

“Ha! I knew you were looking for a chance to get my arms around you.” The words came out of his mouth before the thought could catch up to them, and just as instantly he hated himself.

Sabine gave him that long-suffering head roll and dragged him forward. “This is so questionable.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Ezra. He hobbled along with her, lopsided. Why did he keep saying these stupid things?

Because what else was he going to SAY to Sabine? “You know, I was looking at Janyor of Bith’s work on the holonet last night, and I couldn’t help but notice his color variegation blah blah blah something about light and shadows.” Sure, he could study up. But he wasn’t Lando, and that fake interest would be even more smarmy than just honestly trying his luck.

Sabine’s thin shoulder dug into his arm. He didn’t seem to be slowing her down much. Still, he picked up the pace, swinging his leg out to the side, then leaning hard instead of putting his weight on it.

Ezra usually had really good luck. Sabine was like a brick wall. If he was honest (he wasn’t), he’d given up on Sabine pretty early. …Not that he’d turn her down if she offered.

The mud slipped under their feet. He came down too hard on his leg and the bones in his knee ground against each other.

“Easy there,” she said, planting herself to catch him.

“Yeah, I got it. Uhm, thanks.”

He wouldn’t turn her down, exactly. He’d run away and hide under Kanan’s bunk in terror.

“Hey,” Sabine turned her head to look at him, and the helmet was right in his face, droplets of water running off and hitting his shoulder in the humidity. “You’re awfully quiet. You okay?”

“Yeah.” The least he could do was take his own advice and keep his mouth shut.

“You know,” Sabine mused. “It’s getting harder to drag your butt around. You might want to slow down on the frozen choclimes.”

Teasing, he could do. “No, I don’t think it’s that. I think you’re noticing all the muscle. I’m almost taller than you, too.”

She snorted. “That’ll be the day,” and he laughed back, agreeing, “Yeah, that’ll be weird.”

Because if he was honest, he WAS still attracted to Sabine—you know, pulled in her direction. But he’d stopped noticing the way her hair flipped, stopped thinking about her in the tight black suit under her armor. Instead, he thought about the way she moved when she shot a triple at a stormtrooper or the way she grinned when she pushed the detonator on a paint bomb. And…well…he wanted to… This was weird. He didn’t want to hit that. He wanted to BE that. And he couldn’t live up to her example, and she saw it, and then he felt that horrible ball of failure in his stomach again.

“Hey Ezra, seriously, you keep getting really quiet. Are you going to keel over?”

“No, I’m…uhm…meditating.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh…well…” That was her plotting voice. “Then I guess if you’re not in one of those Jedi trances, I really shouldn’t do THIS—” and she picked up the pace, dragging him along on his injured leg.

“Ow!”

“Keep up, Jedi boy.”

He was pretty sure that a future girlfriend wasn’t supposed to pick on him this much. This was more like an older friend… Okay, sister. She treated him the way an older sister would treat an annoying little brother.

And he didn’t THINK about Sabine anymore. He could hardly help seeing that she was beautiful, but he didn’t, you know, THINK about her that other way on his own time. In fact, just thinking about thinking about her that way made him feel a little sick these days. And when one of their contacts had cracked some comment about what she looked like under the armor last week, Kanan had needed to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from hitting the jerk.

Nobody got to talk to Sabine that way.

She drug him along half behind her, now, and Ezra could hear her laughing at him through the comm.

There was something about that whole thing with the contact that really threw him. She had rolled her eyes in a way that he knew. He’d seen it because…well…when had he seen it?

And why did he feel so incredibly small and ashamed when he thought about her expression then?

He knew. Of course he knew. He had seen it because HE talked to Sabine that way. And he wasn’t up to speed with her and he had to fake it till he made it and now the flirting was habit, and he just didn’t know what else to SAY.

Sabine stopped pulling him. “You know, you can say ‘slow down’ if you want.”

The tree line loomed right ahead. A few hundred meters, then he could make his own crutch. And even now, he was fine. Kanan’s training had already given him a lot more endurance than he would have had on his own. Last year, he would have whined and stumbled his way through this.

Las year, he would have been a kid.

“No, I can keep up.”

But Sabine was right—he could say what he wanted. He didn’t need to wait for permission.

“Hey, Sabine?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t have to wait too long for a response. She considered for about one second, then said,” No, you were right. I DIDN’T see those guys.”

 _No, not for that!_ He wanted to explain. _I’m sorry for being such a jerk that even when I try to be nice and like your art or something, you have to get defensive._

But that was an awkward thing to admit and before he got the courage to come out with it—before he’d figured out what words to use—Sabine continued:

“Just, when you get hurt, tell us. I know you’re not a soldier. But…sometimes it helps to take the good things from the military. We need to work as a machine. If your cog doesn’t work, the whole thing fails. So next time you’re hurt—say something, okay?”

“Okay,” he said meekly. Here were the first trees. “Looks like I’m off your shoulder soon.”

He could hear her grin over the speaker. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not that heavy.” 


	5. Hera and Kanan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for trafficking and drugging and mention of sexual assault, but I swear, the things that happen really aren't that bad! It's just...the atmosphere is awfully upsetting.

She doesn’t check in on time.

They wait, even though nobody likes it, because there are a million reasons she might not be able to communicate. The slaves make their escape exactly as planned, exactly on time, so not everything is a disaster.

Hera doesn’t escape with them.

Zeb is strapping large guns to his back, ready to blast through the doors of the compound, when Kanan preempts him. “I can get her quicker and quieter than you. No need for a frontal assault.” Zeb throws a hand up and mutters something about flying the ship, laced with casual expletives, but that’s what passes for agreement under these circumstances.

When Kanan finds her in a hallway of the compound, she is making her own escape, having cut through the chain around her neck with a vibroblade small enough to keep hidden in her headdress. He can see from the way she’s moving that she’s been drugged. Skin dyed aquamarine for the job, more showing than he’s ever seen outside of the ship, she looks…strange. Still instantly Hera, but…his head swims at the disconnect.  

“Hera—hey.” It’s a whisper. “Let’s get you out of here.” _Are you all right_ is a stupid question.

“Specter 1.” Her voice is wooden, but she’s cognizant enough to try to maintain their cover. That’s a good sign.

“Stay with me, Specter 2.” He scoops her up and meets no protest. That’s worrying, too. When she lets him fly the Phantom without much of a fight, he thinks she’s falling asleep on him. Just basic narcotics, he tells himself. She’ll be okay. He guns it anyway, heading for home as fast as the Phantom will go. But she isn’t asleep. She’s watching the control panel from the corner of her eye, not bothering to lift her head. “WHAT are you doing to my fuel mileage?”

Relief spreads through him like hot caf. He cups his hand over the board, making a wall between her and the sensors. “No backseat drivers.”

“I’m perfectly willing to be a front seat driver.”

“When you can see straight.”

It’s going to be all right. Hera’s at his back.

By the time they board the Ghost she’s better, and the rest of the crew is near frantic. Ezra meets them at the ladder, eyes too innocent. “Is she all right?”

“I’m all right.” Hera is shrugging Kanan off, standing up. “It’s a little chilly. A coat would be nice.” Ezra looks better when Kanan grabs a coat from the storage area and hands it to Hera, and worse when she fumbles to get her arm in the sleeve.  

Zeb goes for the med kit in the pantry. “I’m going to take some blood so we can look at whatever they pumped into your system.”

Sabine checks her blaster. “I’m going to take some blood from somebody else.”

“No,” Kanan tells her sharply. Sabine sits down.

And Hera shakes her head, too. “No, it’s wearing off. I just want to shower this blue stuff off of me.”

“Hera—”

“Shower first, then. Blood later.” They relax. She sounds like Hera.

She’s still moving far too loose, so Kanan ends up in the shower with her, guarding against the slips and sudden forward pitches while she scrubs off the blue coloring with Sabine’s solution. She works silently. Kanan doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, “Sabine’s been after me to dye my hair for months. I think you made her week.” A quiet laugh. He keeps it focused on the present. “Want me to do your back?”

She passes the bottle to him and he scrubs—gently at first, then more vigorously because gently isn’t working. He gets the creases at the base of her lekku and the spots behind her ears that she’s missed, too, glancing up to check that he’s not hurting.

And that’s when he realizes—the deliberate tilt of her head—she’s keeping her face turned away. That’s a bad sign. When Kanan is hurt, he retreats and nurses his wounds, but Hera doesn’t usually need that kind of armor. When she turns away it scares him. So he keeps his voice steady. _I’m not going on a crazy revenge killing spree. You can tell me the truth._ “Hera. Love. I think we need to get you some medical attention. Nobody else is here, just us. We can be discreet. Talk to me.”

She lets out a ragged breath, but she levels with him. He knows her well enough that he’d sense an evasion, even without the Force. “No. No, nothing that bad. We’d planned for a certain level of harassment. Nothing beyond that. It’s just the drugs. Nothing I can’t shake off.” She reaches up to remove the last bit of the slave outfit (costume, disguise, uniform), the thin band around her forehead. Despite the coat that enveloped her body, her head has been bare this whole time. In his panic, he’d overlooked it.

He’s scrubbing that last blue band at the nape of her neck when she tells him, by way of confession, “I danced for them.”

He doesn’t let himself pause. “We thought you might have to.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to.” She still doesn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

She’s shaking off any aftereffects. Less limp, more tense. Something else needs to be said, and he’s not up to this task, and it needs to be said now. Finally, he settles: “You did good, Hera. You got everyone out without a shot fired.”

He watches her throat move as she swallows and thinks he said the right thing.  But it’s not enough. He can’t shake that old urge to do something. So…he does something. “Do you want to dance with _me_?”

That earns him a smile. “Yeah.”

He wraps his arms around her and tries not to squeeze, because then she might know how afraid he is. Hera helps to ground him all the time: talking things through, or knocking him back in line when he’s gotten too caught up in his own pain, or…just being there, her physical presence. He… he can’t help her. He wants to, but he’s no good at it. And she doesn’t really want help, that’s the other issue. Back on the blurrg, soldier. No crying. It seems to work for her.

But much as Hera can bounce back, it still hurts _him_ to see her in pain. Profoundly. Unacceptably. And the last thing she needs is to babysit him when she’s already made it through the gauntlet of a really bad day. So he swallows it down and shuts up and tries not to scream or…well, track down and kill every slaver on the planet, which is his first impulse. Instead, he holds her and she holds him and they pretend like it’s dancing. Then the hot water is gone and they get out of the shower, and it’s over.

By the time they get back to Lothal, she’s slept and she’s fine. When they speak of it in the future, she’s the one comforting him.


	6. Sabine and Hera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been wanting someone to write Hera and Sabine girl talk for like forever. Not: “Oh, your nails are so cute, how did you get them that way? Aren’t boys cute? What’s in style this fall?” Not that kind of girl talk, obviously. So…I finally wrote something. 
> 
> This scene must take place in Season 1. Sabine seems to be the regular copilot, this season. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for implied violence, drugging, threat of sexual assault. I thought I’d let Sabine deal with the fall-out from the last chapter, in other words.

“Hera?”

The voice startled her out of her reverie. She was supposed to be watching the sensors, taking the late shift while Chopper grabbed a well-deserved oil bath, but nothing had happened for hours and hours, and… she hadn’t fallen asleep exactly. She’d just spaced out.

Sabine stood in the doorway of the cockpit, steaming mug in hand. “You want this?”

“It’s caf?” Hera sat up straighter in her seat. Even the steam looked good right now.

“Spiran.”

“You don’t want a cup?”

“No, I just finished some stencils. I’m going to bed soon.”

“Probably a good idea.” Seeing as how their artificial morning started in a little over four hours.

Sabine shifted from foot to foot in the doorway. Clearly something was bothering her. Brows pinched into a straight line, arms wrapped around herself, she waited for an invitation.

“You want to pull up a chair and watch stars before you turn in?” Hera offered.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” The girl slipped behind her and took the copilot’s seat.

Her caf was still too hot to drink, so Hera took a long whiff of warmth and cinnamon, instead. “Mmm, this smells good.” That got her a smile, but Sabine wasn’t ready to share whatever was on her mind yet. All right. “You know how to transfer the nose gun to the copilot’s seat, right? In case you ever need to?”

“In theory. I’ve never done it before, though.”

“Want to play with the switches? Try it out. Just don’t really shoot, okay?”

“Clearly.” She looked around, found the toggle, and dutifully worked the controls. Hera slipped off her gloves to cradle the warm mug in her hands and took tentative, delighted sips.

“Hera?” Sabine had worked up her courage.

“Sabine.”

“…Do you want to talk?”

She was trying to ask something specific, something difficult, but Hera couldn’t tell what she was driving at. “Sure. I’d love to talk.”

“I mean…about…yesterday?”

Oh. Oh. No wonder she looked so shaken up. Had she felt like this all day, and Hera had woken late and groggy, and just hadn’t noticed? “Sure, we can talk.”

Sabine’s face turned slowly red. That and the laconic act were as close as she got to showing distress. She swallowed hard and asked, “Hera, are you okay?”

Oh, boy. Hera would lie a blue streak when it came to contacts and trade secrets, and she didn’t _like_ to volunteer details of her own life, but she knew better than to flat-out lie about matters like this. They couldn’t be a team if they couldn’t trust each other to tell the truth about injuries. So she let out a breath and answered honestly. “I _am_ okay.” 

“I know there’s not… I know you don’t tell Kanan everything. I can see.”

That insight gave Hera a pang of genuine pride. Observant girl. “Fair enough.”

“I just wanted to say…” Sabine shifted awkwardly, “If you want to talk… I mean, I might not be the best person. But I’m here.”

“Thank you, Sabine.”

That must have sounded patronizing. The girl followed up, “I mean it. I’ve seen some pretty bad things. Enough to know what to imagine. You don’t have to protect me. You can talk to me. I can handle it.”

Hera’s eyes widened _. I love you, and no_ , that look meant. “Sabine.”

Sabine waited.

 _I know you can handle anything the galaxy throws at you_ , Hera wanted to tell her. Also, _Don’t volunteer to get hurt_. Instead, she compromised. “Are you worried about me?”

Sabine looked at her lap and admitted, quiet and composed, orange hair obscuring her face, “Yes.”

Oh, bright girl. She was flat-out scared. And Hera was so laconic about these things—she knew she was—and it hadn’t occurred to her that when she told the crew “I’m fine,” they might not accept her words at face value. Zeb believed her because he knew her, and would know if something went wrong. Ezra believed her because he didn’t know her well enough to doubt. But Sabine… She was too smart and not quite jaded enough. And Hera had to walk a thin line—telling them enough about yesterday’s mission to reassure them that she was, in fact, all right, without telling them enough to make them upset and worried all over again. She put down her drink and swiveled in the pilot’s chair. Her knees bumped the younger girl’s seat. “Hey.” She thought carefully. How to explain this? “Do you remember the briefing on this mission?”

Sabine took a deep breath. “Yes, but no, because Kanan was freaking out and he didn’t want to act like that in front of us, and then you two had the real briefing in private.”  

“Okay. That’s fair. But you know that I didn’t go into that mission blind. We talked about parameters. I had ways to stay safe. Fairly safe. Look, it wasn’t pleasant. I took a few punches, and certainly the atmosphere was…” a waking nightmare “…degrading. And then there was the drugging, and that…” Hera suppressed a shudder at the memory of those needles in clenched hands (she couldn’t remember the faces), by far the most frightening part of the whole ordeal. “…That was bad. But nobody hurt me in the way you’re afraid of.”

Sabine looked down.

“Hey,” Hera touched her hand, cold in comparison to her own caf-warmed fingers. “Do you believe me?”

She nodded and whispered, “Yeah.”

“But you haven’t thought about this kind of thing before?”

Sabine took a deep breath and pulled it together. “Oh, sure I have. I’ve just never been this close to it before.”

Well, of course she was shaken. “How is that possible?” Hera asked. “You lived at a military academy.” A military academy at which she consistently out-performed all of the boys. They must have hated her. How could she not have encountered a real threat before now?

Sabine shrugged. She didn't know.

“Well, it’s better to look a threat in the face than pretend it’s not there. Think it through, form a plan, and then stop worrying about it.”

“ _I_ know that.”

“You’re in a good position, really. Very few people are going to be able to overpower you.”

“If I were captured, though…”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that before, too."

"What did you think?"

"I just don’t know… I don’t know if that’s a standard part of the torture procedure or if it’s too unseemly to be in the book, even for the Empire.”

Sabine snorted. “Let me tell you, something might not be in the book, but that doesn’t keep it from happening.”

“I know, I know. At least… that probably wouldn’t be the worst part of Imperial torture?”

Sabine laughed outright at that one. “Great, Hera, you’re really comforting. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Lots of people think I’m comforting!”

Sabine laughed again, and Hera decided this was a good time to get an honest answer out of her. “Hey, kid, if you ever DO get hurt in that way…what would you do afterwards?”

She stopped short, considering. She didn’t know.

Obviously, the plan was _Don’t get hurt_. Fight harder, have more guns. But they didn’t lead safe lives, and they had all dragged each other back to the ship and patched each other up before. This was just one in a long list of potential dangers and injuries. And ignoring that danger, pretending they were safe, provided no real comfort. So talk about it. Name it, don’t be afraid of it, and then, superstitiously, it will never happen. “Would you tell me?”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe not.”

All right. She’d given an honest evaluation, at least.

Sabine chewed her lower lip, speculative. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… I’m not sure what I’d really do. I don’t want to pretend that I’d be strong enough to handle it the smart way.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone is.”

“I might talk to Zeb,” Sabine mused. “But…”

“But then he might kill someone,” Hera supplied.

“Yeah, that would be the danger. You probably wouldn’t storm off with your bare fists, at least.”

But, Hera realized, that is exactly what she’d do. She monitored her own rush of fury as if it belonged to another person, in utter shock at the intensity of that feeling. She had seen her people hurt so many times, sometimes in worse ways than this, but for some reason, this was the one she wouldn’t stand. If someone touched Sabine… If someone touched Sabine, she realized, she would crush that person out of existence.

No need to tell _her_ that. Make it less of a big deal, not more of one. “We always have medical supplies on hand, you know.”  

“Ugh, I don’t want to think about that. In fact…”

“Maybe we should talk about weapons systems or hyperdrives instead, now?”

“Yeah. Just…ugh. I’m glad you’re all right, but I don’t think I could do what you did and be okay with it.”

“Well, you’re never going to get that opportunity.” Good girl. She’d bought into the partial truth Hera had fed her. The darker truth—how relative “okay” was—she didn’t want to share with Sabine right now. Because, from another point of view, Hera was not okay. She suspected that she’d never see a needle again without at least a niggling sense of panic. And she’d taken the late shift so that she could sit up and be privately glum, though monotony and then good company had temporarily cured her of that. But she knew it would happen again, for the next few weeks—moments alone in her quarters, she would sit quietly with her own distress. And then something new and more urgent would call her attention and she wouldn’t worry so much. Work made things better that way. Sabine would be upset to know these things, but in Hera’s book, they really were mostly okay—barely a scar, and even that would fade to indistinguishability over time.  Certainly worth it, when you considered the lives saved.

She vowed silently that Sabine would never know any of this.


	7. Kanan, Zeb, and Ezra

They didn’t expect to be ambushed. Cities housed all sorts of unsavory characters, but each of them had BEEN one of those characters in the past, and most pickpockets or thugs still steered clear of them. Public places held other dangers, of course, but in the city—at the shops, no less—they expected some degree of safety from a full-on Imperial sniper assault, so they weren’t paying attention. Ezra horsed all over the sidewalks with Zeb, showing off. He went flying each time Zeb bumped into him, then used a little Force push to change his trajectory in strange, impossible angles so that he never landed on anything. Not too obvious. Just some fun. Even Kanan joined in, keeping that eyes-rolled-upwards, “why do I put up with this?” expression as he nudged Ezra sideways, straight into that lamp post.

“Hey!” Ezra protested.

Kanan raised an eyebrow. “What?” But his lips twitched.

So they weren’t paying attention. And that’s when something hit the ground with a patter like a falling warra nut. But warra nuts didn’t emit that patient, steady beep.

Grenade.

“Clear!” Zeb went left while Ezra went right, grabbing everyone with long arms and Jedi-enhanced suggestions, pushing them in as wide a radius as possible. Through the open doorways into shops, behind the poor safety of plaster walls.

“Not in the stores!” Kanan yelled.

Oh. Oh yeah. Nothing that would fall on top of people.

Kanan tossed himself over the grenade like a soldier, tamping it down with the Force, containing all that energy in a small, small space. It went with a sharp puff instead of a bang, the pavement cracking on all sides like an asterisk.

Three more pats hit the ground—Ezra counted them rapidly—then, since they’d cleared the area of civilians, the flash and sizzle of blaster fire. Zeb took two strides and leaped the low wall on one side of the street, going after the gunmen.

“Over there! Over there!” Ezra waved his arm, shepherding the people to the other end of the street, not daring to get close enough to bring them into the line of fire. Make yourself as big as you can, Zeb had taunted him once. You’ve got to be a lot bigger to get people’s attention.

But Kanan couldn’t handle three blasts. Ezra saw him looking wildly from side to side. He could contain the explosion itself, but the damage to the ground would bring everything down on top of them.

Beep. Beep.

He watched Kanan’s head whip around. Not here—a grocery.

Beep beep beep.

Not there—a toy store.

Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

Now! He settled on the low wall at the end of the street, pushed out his arms, and the grenades flew at his command, exploding just in front of it. The whole thing toppled backwards, but Kanan could protect them from any fallout, push it all the other way.

The fire stopped. Zeb had made it.

The stores stood.

Children screamed, stuffed-nose, terrified wails. A man’s voice groaned and cried. Heart condition? Panic attack? Someone else said: “It’s okay. It’s okay." A woman’s low voice: “Oh, gods. Who are they? Oh, gods.” Ezra didn’t know if she meant him or their still unseen attackers.

“ZEB!” Kanan yelled.

“Got ‘em! We’re good!” Zeb called back, trotting over.

“Spectre 4, Spectre 6, check perimeter!”

Zeb went left, around the deserted rubble that remained of the wall. Ezra went right, ending up by the groaning man.

He knelt. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re safe. What hurts?”

A woman with a long black braid—his daughter?—covered the man with her arm, putting her body between him and Ezra. “Stay away from him.”

“It’s okay,” Ezra told her. “We’re here to help.”

“ _I’m_ helping him! You people keep away.”

“O— Okay.”  

“Oh, gods.”

“You’re all right.” Kanan held an older woman’s arms out gently, checking for blood. “Are you a Jedi?” Ezra overheard her ask, but he couldn’t hear the answer.

It only took them a couple of minutes to check for injuries. Six or eight other people in the crowd helped. Sirens wailed far in the distance. “Nobody’s seriously hurt. We need to get out of here,” Ezra muttered to Kanan.

“Yeah. Go get Zeb.” Zeb still hadn’t come back.

Ezra jogged around the corner and met the bigger man methodically shifting chunks of duracrete. Not frantic, just driven. “Come on,” he huffed, “we have to go.”

“One minute.”

“Now, they’re getting closer! Hey, what is THAT?”

A mess of red and flesh. Zeb was digging out something alive. No, something that HAD been alive. Ezra felt no trace of a force signature, and whatever it was looked mangled beyond recognition. Oh, no. Somebody’s kid, playing out here? He peered closer.

No. A skinny mongrel dog.

Well, they had gotten it killed. The least they could do was give it the respect of digging it out properly. “I can help. Or Kanan can move all these rocks in five seconds.” Ezra opened his mouth to yell.

Zeb wrapped a huge, furred hand over his face. “Uh uh.”

“What?” Ezra shook off his hand.

“Don’t call Kanan. I’m almost done.”

“No you’re not! That thing is practically still buried!”

“Yep.” Zeb dropped an armful of rubble on the dog’s body and it was hidden for good.

“You can’t… What are you… That’s not right!” He wasn’t freeing the dog at all. “We killed it, the least we can do—”

“WE killed it?” Zeb cut him off.

“Well, we didn’t throw the grenades, but Kanan pushed them—”

“Right.” Zeb dropped another armful of rocks onto the corpse. “Go tell Kanan it’s clear back here. Just an empty alley. Got it?”

Ezra didn’t have a problem with lying, but this was different. The Empire covered up its casualties instead of admitting them. This seemed dishonest.

On the other hand, he could go tell Kanan that he had killed a dog.

He swallowed. “Right.”


	8. Spectres and Chopper

**Run program NIGHT WATCH subprogram DEEP SPACE**

 

 **While** SPECTRES != ON WATCH **do**

 

 **Calibrate** with GHOST

 

**EXTERNAL WATCH**

[

 **Scan** QUADRANTS 1-4. 

 **Let** EXPECTED = **(** ((object  < 2 cm) **and** (object != independently moving parts **or** power source))

 **or**            ((object = naturally occurring) **and** (object !=collision course) **and** (object != respiration OR heart rate) **)**

 **and**        (object radiation  < 0.5 Gy)

 **If** found  !=  EXPECTED **then** **sound alarm** all ship. 

]

 

**MONITOR TRANSMISSIONS**

[

 **If**             incoming transmission from (subfolder CONTACTS **or** subfolder CLIENTS **or** subfolder FAMILY)

 **or** incoming transmission from (coded channel)

 **or**            transmission source priority  > level 2

 **then**    

 **if**             CaptainHeraSyndulla (breath/minute  > SLEEP THRESHOLD TWI’LEK)

 **or** CaptainHeraSyndulla (sleephours/week  > 4hours/day)

 **then      sound signal** in CREW QUARTERS STARBOARD FORE/CaptainHeraSyndulla bunk

               **else**       **sound signal** in CREW QUARTERS PORT FORE/KananJarrus bunk

 

 **If**             transmission to GarazebOrellios = “Hotties of Hoth” **or** “Montrals and Mammaries” **or** “Furry Babes Bare All”

 **then**      ( **when** COMMON AREA population  > 3) **broadcast** transmission at DEJARIK PROJECTOR

]

 

**MONITOR SHIP’S SYSTEMS**

[

 **For** all systems

                **If**             system threshold  > BLACK

 **then**      **note** in LOG.

                **If**             system threshold  > BLACK + 4degrees

 **then**      **sound signal** in CREW QUARTERS STARBOARD FORE/CaptainHeraSyndulla bunk

                **If**             system threshold  >= RED

 **then**      **sound alarm** all rooms

]

 

**MONITOR SENTIENT SYSTEMS**

[

CREW QUARTERS STARBOARD AFT

 **If**             GarazebOrellios movement  > PEACEFUL SLEEP THRESHOLD LASAT

 **and** GarazebOrellios breath/minute  < SLEEP THRESHOLD LASAT

 **then**       **while** EzraBridger breath/minute  < SLEEP THRESHOLD HUMAN

 **and** GarazebOrellios breath/minute  < SLEEP THRESHOLD LASAT **do**

 **Let** CABIN TEMPERATURE = CABIN TEMPERATURE + 1

              **wait** 2 minutes

 

 

CREW QUARTERS PORT FORE

 **If**             KananJarrus breath/minute  < SLEEP THRESHOLD HUMAN

 **and** KananJarrus heartbeat/minute  > 80

 **and** CaptainHeraSyndulla != **present** in CREW QUARTERS PORT FORE

**then**

**while** CaptainHeraSyndulla breath/minute  < SLEEP THRESHOLD TWI’LEK **do**

 **sound** incoming transmission signal in CaptainHeraSyndulla bunk

 **wait** 30 seconds

 

CREW QUARTERS PORT AFT

 **If**             SabineWren breath/minute  > SLEEP THRESHOLD HUMAN

 **and**        HOUR  > 0400

 **then**          **initiate** caf cycle in GALLEY

 

 

CREW QUARTERS STARBOARD FORE

 **If**             CaptainHeraSyndulla heartrate  > 110 beats/minute 

 **and** KananJarrus heartrate  > 110 beats/minute

 **and** TODAY – date of last oil bath  > 15

 **then**     

 **Let** cabintemperature = cabintemperature – 20%

 

 

FRESHER

 **If** GarazebOrrelios **or** EzraBridger = SHOWER

 **then**     

 **Let** watertemperature = watertemperature – 20degrees

]

 

…

“Hey, Chop.”

 

 **Activate** routine EzraBridger

[             

 **Do** **Jab** EzraBridger leg

 **Output** “Possible intruder. Initiating defensive action. Updating: Subject identified as EzraBridger. Subject hygiene provides possible danger. Continue to engage defensive action.”

]

 

“Hey, calm down! I’ll watch for a while. You were here half the day, already. Your joints are going to need oil if you don’t move around and maybe lubricate them some.”

 

 **Activate** subroutine EzraBridger 2

 **Error**. Conflicting programming. Awaiting further input.

 

“Go on. Nothing’s blinking.”

 

 **Update** routine EzraBridger

[

 **While**   EzraBridger = SHOWER

 **Let**           watertemperature = watertemperature

]

 

“I’ll keep us safe for a while.”

 

**Save program.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [ ShannonPhillips ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips) for beta-ing this one, giving me lots of ideas about how to execute it, and coming up with titles for Zeb’s porn holozines in about two minutes flat. She is the best beta, and she has many skills! And on that note, if you like Chopper doing logic, you should go read Shannon's [ "Captain Captured," ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4460258) a beautiful piece about Hera's role on the ship, and probably the inspiration for Chopper thinking in code, here. 
> 
> AAAAND Chopper’s chapter, written in pseudo-code, is kind of a chore to parse. If you would like a paraphrase, here you go: 
> 
> -Chopper is keeping watch in deep space during their sleep cycle. 
> 
> -He calibrates his systems with the Ghost’s sensors. 
> 
> -EXTERNAL WATCH (Checking to see what’s coming outside the ship): Chopper will ignore very small objects that don’t seem to be spy droids (they’re less than 2 cm and have no moving parts and no power source). He’ll ignore naturally occurring objects (like asteroids) that aren’t on a collision course with the Ghost. Anything else (or anything with dangerous levels of radiation) will cause him to sound the alarm. 
> 
> -MONITOR TRANSMISSIONS (What it sounds like, I think): If they receive a message from family, contacts, or paying clients, or if they receive a message on a coded channel (think secret spy stuff), or if they receive a message from a paying client, or if they receive any other message that ranks as high enough priority, Chopper will sound the signal in Hera’s quarters to alert her. Well, most of the time he’ll alert her. If she’s asleep and she hasn’t had much sleep lately (averaging less than 4 hours a night that week), he’ll wake Kanan, instead. 
> 
> Oh, and if the latest installment of Zeb’s pornographic holozines come through while Chopper’s on watch, he’ll wait until there’s a crowd in the common room, then broadcast them for everyone. Because, you know, he’s Chopper. 
> 
> -MONITOR SHIP’S SYSTEMS (“Let’s make sure the ship doesn’t explode and kill us all”): If everything’s normal, Chopper just notes that in the log. If a system starts to creep into the “maintenance needed” zone, Chopper will alert Hera. In case of serious failure, he’ll sound the alarm for the whole ship. 
> 
> -MONITOR SENTIENT SYSTEMS (Or “take care of the people.” But only because it’s part of the ship’s maintenance. Not because he cares or anything.): If Zeb seems to be having troubled sleep, tossing and turning, Chopper will raise the temperature in their bunk a little at a time until either Zeb or Ezra wakes up. In the show, Zeb’s bunk has hand-shaped dents around it. I’m not sure if Chopper’s looking out for Zeb, or Ezra, or just the structural integrity of the ship, here. If Kanan seems to be having a nightmare (elevated heart rate while asleep) and he’s sleeping by himself, Chopper will subtly try to wake Hera—just the beep of the incoming transmission buzzer every so often until she’s awake. If Sabine’s still awake at 0400, Chopper will start the caf for her in the galley. I’m assuming she pulls a few all-nighters painting. If Hera and Kanan are getting frisky and Chopper feels like it’s been a little too long since his last oil bath, he’ll abruptly drop the temperature in Hera’s bunk. This keeps him in regular oil baths, as you might expect. And if Zeb or Ezra tries to shower while Chopper’s on watch, he’ll see that the water goes abruptly cold. 
> 
> At this point, Ezra breaks in. Chopper activates his default programming, which is to assault and insult Ezra. Then Ezra offers to keep watch for Chopper, who has been on duty for a good part of the day as well as the night shift. Chopper updates his programming to let Ezra take showers at a normal temperature. 
> 
> Because Chopper is so very, very nice.


	9. The Spectres and the Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About ten minutes after "The Siege of Lothal" ends...

Ahsoka had transferred to one of the remaining corvettes—to give a report? To seek intel? Hera got the impression she was planning to meditate. So it was just them on the Ghost, strung out on lack of sleep and worry.

On the bench behind the dejarik table, Kanan sat with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched in. He was still shaken, but he’d hardened over the last few days so that he could take care of them all, hardened the way clay did if left out in the sun. Later tonight, he would come to her. He’d straighten his shoulders, and then he would crack. The painstaking task of putting the pieces back together would fall to her. Or else he _wouldn’t_ come to her, and instead he’d walk around wounded for days.  

Hera pushed the button on her wrist display and locked the hatch from the inside. “We made it,” she announced to no one in particular. Nobody responded.

She was glad they’d tagged along with her on that crazy near-suicide run. At first, she’d wished they hadn’t—less collateral damage, less people vaporized. But then they got away. And she wouldn’t have escaped on her own.

So here they all were, alive and squished comfortably into the ship’s common room. Still, winding down after a close call like that took real work. Chopper bumped the table’s port manically, his way of getting it to re-set when it was on the fritz. Sabine, helmet dented and cheek bruising, rolled her neck to work out the kinks. (They had ice in the refrigeration unit and a tube of bacta in here somewhere.) Zeb puttered around the few dirty dishes, hangdog. He’d missed the tracking device, and people had died, and he was taking it hard. Ezra looked back and forth between Kanan and Hera, trying to figure out what had happened in the past few days. All of them needed looking after, and everyone was too frayed to take care of the others.

Everyone except Ezra, that was. “I’m going to watch Droid Pageant,” he announced.

Sabine made a face. “Yuck.”

“What’s Droid Pageant?” Hera asked over Zeb’s snigger.

“Oh, it’s this show,” Ezra explained. “It’s really funny. People on Core Worlds dress up their droids and compete to see which one is the most beautiful.”

“Hmm…” Hera considered. “What do you think, Chop?”

The droid chirped out assurances that he could destroy the competition, over Ezra’s protests. “No, no, no, it’s not like that! These people are crazy.”

“It’s awful,” Sabine put in.

“Well, yeah, it’s awful—and great!”

“Yeah, I’m up for watching with you,” Zeb said. “I’ll make the popmoss.”

“No way, nobody wants popmoss that tastes like fur!” Sabine kicked Ezra in the leg before he got any further— _shut up_. Too late to recover, he let the silence drag on a second too long before backtracking. “Uhm, okay. Popmoss!”

“Nice, kid.” Zeb disappeared into the galley and Chopper fiddled with the table display. A few years ago, during her space opera phase, Sabine had done some serious slicing for transmitter codes. Now they got any transmission in the settled galaxy, even the pay stations, but tuning it to a solid picture took a little work.

Hera got the lights and they settled in, having missed only the first five seconds of the show’s opening. Zeb returned, beckoned by the theme music, so she stayed up to get the popmoss when it finished, watching them all. Kanan had taken the middle of the bench, Sabine next to him. Now that nobody could scrutinize her, Sabine let her head rest on Kanan’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and patted her shoulder without taking his eyes off the display. Zeb and Ezra jockeyed for the last bench seat. Finally, Zeb shoved Ezra off, and the boy landed on the ground with a resentful “Ow! Hey, this whole thing was my idea!”

“Too slow, kid.”

“I got here, first!”

“Too small, then.”

Hera slipped her gloves off and folded them on the counter. She took off her goggles, and much of the tight band of pain around her forehead disappeared. They would have to admit at some point that the day was over and they weren’t getting any safer than this.  They would have to relax. Might as well be now.

The popmoss dinged. She grabbed it and slid into the bench seat on Kanan’s other side, reserved for her without a word. Chopper parked next to her, bumping her leg gently, and she reached down absently and let her fingers run over his chassis. “He can’t feel that,” Kanan had pointed out a long time ago, when he first came aboard the ship. Each of the newcomers had made the same observation at least once before realizing that Hera didn’t care. The familiar smoothness of worn metal under her fingers always centered her.  Metal things could be trusted.

But not the kind of metal things showcased on this program, evidently. Chopper blatted out his personal ratings of the contestants, along with a constant, semi-offensive stream of specific critiques.  “They’re not my idea of beautiful either, Chop,” Hera agreed.

“Eye of the beholder,” Ezra said sagaciously.

Sabine nudged him with her toe. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Not one of them is streamlined,” Hera protested.

“Yeah, I told you it was weird.”

“Granted, not everyone has the same idea of beauty, but this is just terrible engineering. Like that one—” she indicated the sparkling astromech, standing in the spotlight as an announcer ran his bio piece.

“Is that…?” Ezra wondered. “What IS that?”

“Oh my stars.” Sabine sat up straight, half-delighted, half-appalled.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah.” Zeb dipped a fist into the popmoss and came out with half the bowl. “Sexbot parts on an astromech.”

Kanan’s guffaw was as involuntary as it was loud.

Sabine rolled her eyes. “I just felt two or three brain cells fall out of my ears.”

“Ezra—”

“I’m sorry, Hera. Different show next time.”

The others all shook with helpless giggles. “You three—Chopper! You don’t think that’s even a little sad? The poor thing is going to fall over!”

Chopper chortled his response with wicked glee.  

“Come on, Hera,” Kanan grinned at her, “Lighten up. It’s just more Core Worlds horrible fashion. Remember when we went undercover to that party and some duchess had a hive of live bees in her hair?”

“What?” Sabine swallowed her moss. “I want to hear that story.”

“Shh! The sexy droid is gone now. I want to see the next one!”

“Speaking of seeing, Ezra, you make a better door than a window.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, oh wise master?”

“Stop leaning over; we can't see." 

They’d never made it through an entertainment program, all in the same room, without degenerating into wisecracks.

The Ghost was empty except for themselves. Hera always knew who was moving on her ship, the same way she never lost track of an enemy craft while flying. Maybe everyone was a little Force sensitive for the things they loved. Maybe Kanan and Ezra felt this way about everything. Or maybe they were just hypervigilant after so many years of combat. Whatever it was, the quiet soothed her frayed senses.

They had lost today. Outgunned, outflown, outplanned—they had played out the hand and been beaten badly. And they hadn’t even seen it coming.

But even the loss was encouraging, if you turned it at the right angle. A corvette and most of a squadron destroyed. A few months ago, it had just been them. They wouldn’t have been able to play these kinds of stakes in the first place.

And the Ghost was still flying, thrumming with the familiar sound of well-maintained machinery. Tanks newly topped off with real water. Every room on the ship filled with breathable air. A buffer against the deep freeze of space on all sides.

They’d had a long week. It was good to be home.


End file.
